Branded
by Guns-n-Freckles
Summary: Cas branded Dean and Sam's ribs. Now Dean wonders what's inscripted in them. DESTIEL.
1. Chapter 1

_For Solo._

_Because she listens to my problems, and has become a good friend in a short period of time._

As the sun rose and shone hard through the thin, ragged curtains of the motel, Dean Winchester curled himself into a tight ball and hid his face in the bed sheets to avoid the harsh light that had decided to lay its wrath upon him. '_Just five more goddamn minutes…'_ He squeezed himself into a tighter ball and winced, still feeling the pain in his ribs from the branding Castiel had placed upon Dean and Sam. Dean hadn't given a second thought as to what the branding might mean besides the obvious that it was supposed to protect them from other angels. This same train of thought led Dean to think that maybe he should ask Castiel if there was some way to ward off demons too.

His train of thought was interrupted when Sam, stepped through the motel room's door, and slammed it shut.

"Goddamnit Sam! Normal people are trying to sleep here!" Dean didn't really want to admit that none of this actually mattered because his sleep had been ruined by thinking way too many thoughts (which was usually Sam's thing…The Sasquatch must be infectious, or something.)

"Don't see any normal people here, Dean." Sam countered, as he meticulously laid down the donut, two coffees, and his fruit salad. The elder brother frowned and got up from his safe little fort of bed sheets and growled. "You okay?" Sam asked but didn't look over at his brother, deciding he was probably grumpy because he hadn't been laid in a while.

"No, I'm not freakin' 'Okay'. What the hell did Cas do to us? My chest hurts, man!" Dean rubbed his chest in emphasis, and made his way to the counter and his donut.

"I don't know, Cas said they were sigils – "

"- To protect us, blablabla..Yeah, I was there, Sammy. I got the memo. The dude branded us like cows." Sam smirked at his annoyed and overly dramatic brother. It was amusing to him how dramatic Dean could actually get, and yet still claim that he didn't want 'any chick-flick moments.' Sam watched Dean as he tore into his donut like an animal, and quietly opened up his fruit cup.

"You could always call Cas and ask." Sam regretted saying it, because the moment it left his mouth he received the most incredulous look from Dean.

"If he wanted to tell us, he would have." Dean snapped.

"Just call him already." He knew he was treading thin ice now, because Dean raised his eye brow and got up from where he was seated.

"We're on a case, we don't have time for this freakin' cattle branding crap."And with that, the pissed off brother shut himself into the bathroom and turned on the rusty shower tap full blast.

"Alright…Well, I'll be at the coffee shop three blocks down, researching the case, if you need me." Dean heard the click of the door, and Sam was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

_Part 2._

Dean stepped into the shower and felt his muscles relax under the warm water. The water glided across his muscles, reaching in the dips and creases of his skin. For a crappy motel, the shower wasn't half bad. Dean took out the shampoo he had set on the tub's corner, squirted some into his hand, and lathered it slowly into his scalp. His finger tips massaged his skull, and Dean instantly felt the head ache from earlier ebb away. The last time his head felt so relaxed was when Sam and he had stopped off at a diner a couple states back and the pretty lithe waitress wrapped her fingers in his short hair and massaged it while he ate her out in a bathroom stall. Dean felt his blood flow southward, and groaned as his dick fattened up in lieu of the memory. He washed the shampoo out of his hair and grabbed Sam's conditioner. He, for once, inwardly thanked his younger brother for owning so many hair products. The conditioner was far smoother in his hand than the motel's complimentary shampoo had been.

The hunter, once again, squirted the bottle into his palm. Dean brought his hand to his dick and slowly encircled his fist around the head of his cock, squeezing it lightly. 'God, _it's been too long.'_ He laid his head back against the shower's old wall tiles and rocked his hips into his fist. Dean groaned and touched the vein under the head of his penis, worrying the vein that presented itself on his erection. "F-Fuck!" He moaned and pistoned his hips faster into his hand, slipping a finger over the head of his penis and touching the slit that was now slick with pre-come. Dean swiped some of the pre-come off his cock with one long finger and pressed it near his opening. Dean was by no means a stranger to sexual kinks, and had found that the sweet spot, a girl had once found within him, was way too good to pass up. He slowly pushed his finger inside, past the pink rim. Having no patience, he started to fuck himself on his finger while still ministrating his dick with the other hand. He started losing the fluidity in the movement of his hips, as he pumped erratically and felt the long overdue climax approach him. "Holy Shit! Fuck Fuck Fuck." And a litany of cuss words fell from Dean's lips while strings of hot white hit the tile below him and washed down the drain.

When he finally left the shower and got dressed, Dean felt better than he had in several days. _'Time to call the son of a bitch.'_ He thought.


	3. Chapter 3

_Part 3_

Dean knows it's time to call Castiel. He knows he can't avoid calling him. But whenever he tries to call the angel's name something gets stuck in his throat, his words become mumbles, and his jumbled unsaid prayers remain unanswered. Sam urges Dean time and time again to call Castiel. To call the angel and demand an explanation of why Dean's sigils just _hurt so goddamned much. _And so the vicious circle goes round again; Dean tries, but Castiel cannot hear him. Dean becomes aggravated and attempts to scream at the top of his lungs because he's 'so sick of this angel shit' and he doesn't want to deal with 'annoying and unnecessary precautions' anymore. The brothers drive to Bobby's, but the older hunter just tells Dean that there's nothing he can do about it, and there's no lore on this. They leave Bobby's with lost hope and find another case to work on. While they're working on that very case (something about teenagers in bands being hanged by the neck with guitar strings) Sam finally gets frustrated enough with his brother's complaining to tell him to shut up and forget about it. Dean doesn't mention the tightening feelings in his rib cage anymore, and life as the Winchester's know it goes on. Weeks pass, and the pain of the sigils within Dean's rib cage subsides, and he slowly forgets about calling the angel. He never forgets Castiel; of course, he simply shoves the whole issue in the back of his mind because there are more important things to do. There are things to hunt and people to save, and that's their family business. It's Dean and Sammy against the world, that's not how it always was but how it always will be, and Dean's completely fine with that. The brothers don't say another word about the absent angel for quite a while.

Dean is the first to break the silence.

"What's his deal?" Sam looks up from his lap top and toward his brother, who is biting a huge ( '_and so unhealthy'_ Sam thinks) chunk of meat-lovers pizza. Sam knows from the sound of Dean's voice that this is going to be a conversation he's going to regret entering.

"Who's deal?" Sam asks anyway, and he figures it's better to ask than have Dean grunt in annoyance at the fact that Sam's ignoring him again, because he's been doing that a lot lately.

"Cas. I mean, the dude scorches the crap outta us and then ditches us like whores." Dean comments and stops to inspect his pizza, only to pick off a meat ball and pop it in his mouth. Sam groans, "Not again."

And, like any conversation they have between them, one misunderstands the other and becomes defensive, "What?! Bitch, I'm just worried 'bout him, okay?! What's so damn important up there anyway?" Dean barks. Sam pushes back his chair a little to take some distance from his brother.

"Are you saying that you need him, Dean?" Sam raises his eyebrows and smirks, he knows he's got Dean cornered. Dean just stops mid-bite and chokes on his pizza.

"What? No?! I mean, it just…It would be nice to have him round again, y'know?" And whether it's from the choking or from the affirmation, of all the blood and guts Sam has seen his brother be coated with, he can't help but think that Dean has never been redder in the face than he is now.


	4. Chapter 4

_Part 3_

They haven't seen the angel for several months, and they really should be getting used to his absence at this point. The trouble is that neither of them are really getting used to life without the strange little nerdy dude with wings. Even Sam feels a sort of empty spot in the impala; and he sometimes catches Dean looking in the rearview mirror for reasons other than traffic safety. Sam doesn't say anything after that. He decides it's best to leave Dean with his usual inner turmoil, and that any more energy spent on the issue of Cas's whereabouts is probably a waste of time.

Dean just sits there at the motel room's shabby table, even after Sam has cleared away the pizza. The brothers clear up their belongings and load them up into the trunk of the impala without a single word. The younger expects some sort of overcompensating manly banter, but it doesn't happen; instead, Dean reverses out of the motel parking lot and drives in silence (well, metallica is playing on the stereo) until they stop off at a diner for lunch.

Every time the Winchesters enter an establishment, it comes as no surprise to them that they get a couple of ogles from people. Dean nudges Sam, nodding his head and turning it to signal toward one of tables where some tall, long legged waitress is happily chatting away with an elderly customer and his wife. They sit down a table in the far back, most likely a subconscious habit to stay inconspicuous, and look at their menus. A slightly balding man walks up to their table, an apron around his waist and a towel on his tattooed arms.

"You boys ain't here to cause no trouble, are ya?" The man's voice gritty as he breathes out heavily, his head jerks to the left, "M'wife is worried 'bout strange young folk." The brothers notice a small, frail looking grey haired woman quickly return her attention toward cleaning the counter tops.

"No sir. We don't cause trouble. Your pie looks awesome; I could do with a big slice." The man laughs heartily and claps Dean on the shoulder.

"I told her you was no trouble." He says, and turns toward his wife, "Martha! I told you them boys was no trouble!" The boys exchange a look, they like places like this. According to them, small town diners are better than those large metropolitan franchises. In these small businesses, food is always freshly made. Yeah, sure it's greasy as hell, but Dean figures that nothing beats a pie made with diligence and love.

"M'names Kip. C'mon boy, tell me what you're gonna eat, y'look starvin'!" Kip bellows, shocking not a single customer as if they're entirely used to it. Kip takes out his writing pad and writes 'pie' in huge slanted letters, and then taps his pen impatiently against the pad, waiting for Sam's order. "I'll just take a bowl of fruit salad, thanks." Sam says.

"Boy, you ain't one o' them models, are ya? Y'all look like yer skinny as foxes." Kip saunters back toward the kitchen and hangs their order up on the chain in the kitchen window. The cook takes it down and chuckles.

"See? I'm not the only one who thinks your salad fetish is hilarious." Dean notes. He leans back a little, resting his arm over the back of the bench, and looks out the window. Across from the diner, there's a park. Mothers are busy walking across the streets with strollers in the hot summer sun, seeking the cool shade of the park trees. The boys both know this is the life they lost out on, and Sam knows better than anyone that Dean had a taste of it that year with Lisa. He's sure that his older brother misses it. He's sure that Dean has been missing a lot of things lately, like Cas.


	5. Chapter 5

The brothers eat their respective lunches; dean savoring his pie carefully, mulling it over, letting the natural sugars and syrups flow over his taste buds as a slow groan reaches his lips. Sam briefly looks up at Dean, tells him to quit having sex with the pie, and munches on his salad.

"Can I get you anything else?" the pretty, busy waitress from before smiles at the duo. She's practically bursting with energy and excitement, bouncing slightly in place, making her pony tail swing from side to side as she blows bubbles with her chewing gum. Sam starts gathering the wad of cash he had stuffed in his pocket for the bill. A small smile plays across his lips because he knows Dean is going to charm his way through the bill with the promise of a date with the young woman. He's done it before. When nothing but silence fills the space, Sam finally looks at his brother who's gathering his jacket in record time, a shocked look and annoyance openly expressed on his face. Sam apologizes to the pretty waitress and catches up with Dean. It's only when he makes it outside that he sees what Dean got so frustrated over.

In the park, on the bench across the street from the diner, sits a very haphazard angel. _Castiel_, Sam can practically hear Dean's mind thrum with the name of the angel. He's not stupid; he knows Dean must have had a litany of prayers and insults lined up for the angelic tax accountant every godforsaken night. Sam lags behind a little, perhaps on purpose; he can see his brother animatedly talking to Castiel, obviously trying to keep his voice down because of all the little kids around.

* * *

Dean vaguely heard the waitress ask him something, but he wasn't paying attention. From across the street, he could see Cas. _Son of a fucking bitch!_ Dean gathers his stuff as fast as possible and makes it out of there. He feels the crushing blow of pain return to his rib cage upon the sight of the angel. He's never felt anything like this, the low throb of pain that reaches so deep within his core that not even Alistair had gotten that deep in hell. Dean feels the pain radiate out, and suddenly it's like he can't even breathe, like someone went and crushed all the wind out of his lungs. Tears gather in his eyes at the ache, but he pushes it aside and makes large strides towards the renegade angel.

* * *

" – It ain't funny, Cas! Where the hell have you been?!" That's the first thing Sam hears from 10 feet away, he catches the eye of a mother glaring at them and sends her an apologetic look. He wishes his brother would learn some damn manners or at least the niceties that are necessary in society, but no, he got stuck with Dean; a guy that was completely unaware of anything less than supernatural dangers.

"I had other things to attend to, _Dean._" Cas hisses through his teeth, jaw clearly clenched, and hands in balls of fists. _'Oh crap, he's pissed.'_

Dean's posture is slightly bent; he's holding his hand flat against his ribs. They must be hurting again. It's only when Cas lets out a small sound that Sam notices that Cas is also clutching his sides.

'_What the hell is going on?!'_


	6. Chapter 6

Part 6: We're in it for the Long Haul

Sam struggles to get Dean and Castiel back to the impala. Dean groans, but Castiel quietly accepts Sam's help with no trouble. "Must be indigestion or somethin'." Dean mumbles as he plops himself down in the backseat of the impala. He stretches himself out all along the backseat when Sam stands there looking at him, "What, dude?!" he yells. He's annoyed enough at the constant throb of his ribs, but now he's got his freak of a brother and his creepy ass angel staring at him? Castiel carefully lowers himself next to what little space Dean has left in the backseat. Dean finally gets it and begrudgingly makes more space for Cas to relax a little too. Sam gets in the front seat and starts the engine.

"Be careful with her, Bigfoot." Dean grumbles at Sam. Last time Sam drove Baby, he ruined the stick shift because he has 'absolutely no finesse or tact at all and he obviously doesn't know how to operate a damn beauty like Baby.'

"You know what they say about big feet." Sam winks, grinning wide at Dean who simply snorts, and doesn't try to retort.

The road to the nearest motel is bumpy to say the least, and every time Sam drives over one –sometimes purposely faster than others, just for pay back – Dean blasphemes and Castiel releases a small gasp, like he hadn't expected to feel the pain. The angel looks at Dean, and Dean realizes something is seriously wrong with them; cold sweat is dripping down the back of his neck now, and Cas looks a hell of a lot paler than he did earlier. Dean's just about to remark on the fact when the angel's blue eyes roll back and his body topples over into Dean's lap. He wants to protest, he really does. But he's tired, so tired, and Cas is really not bothering him too much. His eyes close and he's pretty sure he falls asleep.

Sam looks into the rearview mirror only to notice Cas is strewn across Dean, while Dean himself is resting his head against the window. Sam cuts the engine and gets them both out of the car half unconscious with sleep. Dean shuffles to the motel room with Cas while Sam gets them checked in.

While Sam does expect to see his brother and his friend collapsed upon the beds, this is not what he sees. Castiel's trench coat has been abandoned upon one of the shitty chairs, right next to his tie and slacks with his shoes at the legs of the chair with the socks thrown on the floor. Sam observes that the bathroom door is open, "Dean?" He says cautiously, because god knows what he's caught his brother doing in the bathroom before and he's definitely not wishing for a repeat.

"Yeah, in here." Dean bellows, and Sam slowly walks up to the door and stands at the entry of the tiny, shabby bathroom.

Castiel is sitting on the lowered toilet seat, his shirt open, and Dean is rubbing a wet towel over Cas' face and neck. "He's got a fever." He explains softly. Dean's brow isn't furrowed in frustration anymore. His thoughts flicker to Jess for a brief moment, and how she had the exact same expression on her face years ago, when she was alive. Sam shakes himself out of that emotional state he's getting into because it's not healthy to dwell on the past anymore. It seems as if Dean's pushed aside his pain and is solely focusing on Castiel and getting him better. Sam remembers when Dean used to care for him when he was sick as a child, he had always been patient. Sam doesn't reply to Dean, and Castiel just releases soft sighs whenever Dean lowers the newly cold and wet towel back onto his body.

Sam leaves the room, leaving a note for Dean that he's gone to check for more cases. In reality he left because it felt much too intimate to stay and watch his brother interact with the angel, and he wonders how much longer they will both stay oblivious and naïve. He asks for directions to the town library and tries to find books on what might be happening to Dean's sigils in relation to angels.


End file.
